


Better Than Killing a Slayer

by Theblueeyedvampire



Series: Better Than... Series [1]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV)
Genre: F/M, Mild Sexual Content, Mild Smut, Slow Dancing, Song Lyrics, Temporary Buffy/Riley
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-18
Updated: 2016-09-18
Packaged: 2018-08-15 19:10:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8069293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Theblueeyedvampire/pseuds/Theblueeyedvampire
Summary: Season Five one-shot. Slightly inspired by a less than pleasant dance I experienced, when I wish there’d been a Spike to sweep me away. Some Riley bashing. I was in need of some cathartic Spuffy angst… which ended up getting rather steamy. Takes place sometime between “Fool for Love” and “Into the Woods”. Buffy POV. Spike is in love with Buffy but she has no clue. Originally published Feb 02, 2014 on Elysian Fields.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Lyrics to “Oh My!” by Lex Land (Buffy/Riley) and “My Heart Is Not My Home” by Ms Mr (Buffy/Spike).

**Better Than Killing a Slayer**  
by AGriffinWriter

Just _fifteen_ minutes. All it took was fifteen minutes at the Bronze, and Buffy already wished she’d never agreed to come, wished she’d stayed at home watching cartoons and eating pizza with Dawn. At least there she could’ve cranked up the AC as much as she wanted, blasting cold air throughout the living room.

But here, with Riley’s wide, clumsy hands all over her, spreading his sweat everywhere he touched, Buffy was miserable. By this point, she’d even be willing to trade partners with Anya and take a turn dancing with Xander. What her high school buddy lacked in suave dance skills he makes up in cheerful enthusiasm, and at least _he_ gave his partner space, unlike a certain Slayer’s boyfriend who thought it was the mark of an attentive dancer to grope his girlfriend after every few beats of the song.

She’d known going into this relationship that he couldn’t dance – Willow had spilled the beans that night after the party, nearly a year ago, and Buffy could almost hear her best friend’s cautious voice reverberating through her head now. _“Buffy, Riley told me he can’t dance. Really can’t. He told me. And I… I know that’s a big deal for you. Because you like to dance to much, and you’re so good at it. Just thought you should know.”_

But of course she’d overlooked the dancing downside in favor of the numerous qualities about Riley that she’d liked… mainly his level of okay-ness with her being the Slayer. Yeah, at times that was a hot button issue in their relationship – especially recently, when the combined burdens of slayage, her college coursework, Mom’s hospital trips, Dawn’s mysterious identity and origin, _AND_ keeping up with Mister Fragile Human Ego feel like the foundations of some huge building weighing on her shoulders. That was the main reason why she'd agreed to overlook her overwhelming tiredness and come with the rest of her friends to the Bronze tonight… to _try_ to relax and let loose.

So far? A monumental failure.

For her sake, Riley usually _tried_ to dance, especially once he’d downed three or more beers… like tonight. No matter how many times she coached him, he was still too slow and too off-beat and far too clingy… so by this time, their third song of the night, she was already eager to call it quits and dash back through the tepid November air to the shelter of her upstairs bathroom for a long, refreshing soak… probably with copious buckets of ice.

“Riley, this is the last one, okay?” she sighed, reluctantly gulping down half her glass of water and leaving it at the table with Willow and Tara, the first couple of the Scooby Gang to extricate themselves from the stifling dance floor.

“What’s the matter, Buffy?” Riley grinned goofily at her, tugging at her hand until they were back in the midst of the gyrating bodies. “I thought you liked dancing.”

_I do when my dance partner can hold a beat for two seconds put together and doesn’t reek of beer._

“I do,” was all that she said aloud, letting him rope his brawny arms around her neck and waist. The lead singer started up the lyrics, and Buffy tried her best to lose herself in the upbeat music. She didn’t have the heart to tell him that the way he had his arms arranged pulled them too close together to be comfortable, or that because he was so tall every time he looked down she feels like he was staring down her shirt instead of into her face.

 _/ All along thought that we were going strong_  
Oh my  
Well I know that we’ve hit some bumpy roads  
It’s fine /  


Buffy realized halfway through the first verse that part of the heat problem might be Riley’s turtleneck. It may be _November_ , but it was still _California_ , the balmy temperatures barely ever getting lower than 70 degrees Fahrenheit. He’d been wearing those stupid things a lot lately, probably because of some kind of ingrained instinct from his childhood in Iowa, where the seasons and their corresponding temperatures are a lot more distinct. It appeared to be an extra thick wool one too, because of the odd bunching at his elbows and neckline.

“Riley, if you’re gonna lead, you have to give signals. I can’t figure out what turn you’re trying to do.”

“Sorry. Distracted.”

 _Or drunk_ , her head complained. _And would it kill him to keep his eyes any higher than my cleavage? God, I hate this._

 _/ Poor communication_  
Need an explanation /  


Riley’s ‘signals’ didn’t help at all. When he lifted his arm and yanked her in an indeterminate direction, Buffy couldn’t discern whether he meant an inside turn or an outside turn, so she just spun, the whole motion feeling awkward and forced. He seemed incapable of moving his whole body as a coordinated unit; instead his hefty limbs moved jerkily, one at a time, like a poor attempt at dancing ‘the robot’.

_Well, maybe it’d help if he made eye-contact! It’s not like my boobs are going to give him directions._

_/ I’ve, I’ve got this feeling inside_  
That you and I were fine  
Oh, oh, oh my /  


“Riley, give me some space! You’re sweltering me!”

“Sorry.”

 _Yup, definitely the stupid turtleneck_ , Buffy complained to herself, squirming around until she was slightly farther away from Riley’s sweaty torso. In contrast to him, she may as well be dressed for the blazing heat of summer. Remembering the last clammy dancing disaster, she’d picked out thin jeans in a light wash, paired it with a sleeveless and filmy white blouse, and pulled her hair up in a high ponytail, relieving her neck of most of the heated strands. But so far her airy outfit hadn’t done her much good.

 _/ I made amends but you wouldn’t comprehend_  
Oh my  
Is this a trend, or is it really the end  
This time /  


“Riley, no, your hand goes on my _other_ shoulder blade,” she tried to point out, re-positioning his large palm. “You don’t have to reach it _all the way_ across my back. No, _here_! Ouch!”

“Sorry,” he muttered, raising his left foot – at his point, either one would classify as the left foot, apparently – off of hers.

“It’s nothing,” she sighed. Her throat was already parched, the fleeting relief of the water now completed evaporated. “Let’s try again.”

 _/ Poor communication_  
Need an explanation /  


Riley… was… a clod. A half-drunken clod. There was just no gentler way to say it. Buffy wondered just how many _more_ times it would take for her toes to get trampled on before even Slayer strength wasn’t enough to keep them in one piece, and she internally sent up a prayer of thanks that she’d decided on boots instead of sandals.

“Riley, space! Shesh! You’re not patting me down for weapons, okay? You don’t have to touch me every stupid second of the song!”

“Sorry.”

He certainly didn’t _act_ sorry, his hands still constantly moving over her body, lingering on her chest and ass, just shy of groping.

 _/ I’ve, I’ve got this feeling inside_  
That you and I were fine  
Oh, oh, oh my /  


_Please let the song be over soon, please let it be over, please let me get out of here…_

She felt bad that she hated this so much, when it was obvious to her how hard he was trying… but he just didn’t get it. It’s not about any moves in particular, or even about having a partner to dance with. It’s just about _moving_ , finding the beat and letting her body give the orders. Her hips should be able to shimmy in sultry circles, her arms free to toss her hair, her feet capable of tapping a rhythm without fear of being trampled. She should feel powerful and beautiful… not trapped.

 _/ How I feel about you_  
Honey, I don’t know  
There’s nothing that I can do  
Whoa…  
I’ve, I’ve got this feeling inside  
That you and I were fine  
Oh, oh, oh my /  


_Finally!_ She gasped inside her head and fidgeted until she was arms-length away from Riley as the final drumbeats of the song echoed through the Bronze. Instead of being able to _relax_ while dancing, Buffy found herself nearly twice as stiff and knotted up as before.

But the moment she worms free, Riley reached for her again, his palm smearing across her breast.

“Come on, Buffy, let’s do another…”

“Riley, I told you that was the last one. I’m beat, okay?”

“That was only a two-minute song! What happened to all that Slayer stamina?”

 _Monsters are_ way _easier to squash than your dance eagerness, bucko. I literally feel like I’ve just been whacking down vamps for hours, except without the recharging bursts of adrenaline… or, come to think of it, the plus to my sex drive. What does that say about me… that I get horny from fighting vampires but not from dancing with my own boyfriend?_

“Buffy,” Riley nagged again, “this is for _you_. I’ve seen you dance for hours before. What gives? Can’t you just–”

“The lady said she’s takin’ a rest, mate,” a cool British voice interrupted.

 _Cool_ … As Buffy turned to face the vampire, she wondered why she so quickly labeled even his _voice_ with a low temperature, guessing it was her need for a soothing ice-bath to wash off all the sweat and grime which seems to coat her. But one look at him… at Spike… confirmed the description.

Everything about him exuded _cool_ , his platinum hair, his pale face, his dark clothes that seem to shade him from the heat and taint of the Bronze’s sweltering atmosphere. But his eyes were the pinnacle… gleaming, radiant ice blue… as though instead of heat vision those dazzling eyes could emit a ray of frost.

“Nobody asked you,” scoffed Riley, turning a scornful gaze on the vampire. “Why are you here anyway?”

Spike opened his mouth to retort… but for some reason he changed his mind, just regarded Riley with bridled enmity. Without even meaning to, Buffy scrutinized the vampire’s face and was astonished to see a hint of a fading bruise on his cheekbone and the slightest of half-healed cuts on his lip.

_I haven’t been beating him up… so I wonder who has…_

“How’s Mum?” asked Spike, and it took Buffy a moment or two before she realized he was addressing her.

“Oh… oh, she’s… they’re, um, taking her in for more tests,” she mumbled. “Right now we’re thinking the best option is probably surgery.”

“I thought ‘bout bringin’ her a fruit basket or somethin’. It’s… what visitors used to do, in my time.”

“That’s… um, I know she’d like that.”

As she spoke, Buffy felt Riley shifting at her side, most likely bored by the turn of the conversation, frustrated by the moment of camaraderie between her and Spike.

“You want something?” she demanded, tilting her head up to her boyfriend and smiling stiffly. _You know, my life isn’t all about you, Riley. I’ve got a mom and a sister and a freaking destiny that are all a tad higher on the Buffy priority list_.

“Uh…” Riley looked around, clearly startled by the scathing tone of her voice. “Just, um… I’ll go see how the gang’s doing. Let you two discuss the… fruit…”

Riley gave Spike one more glower before he stomped away to rejoin the other two couples, and Buffy glances\d over the vampire again. This time, she noticed the bottle of beer he was holding in one hand, the condensation dripping slowly down the sides of the glass and over his fingers… slick and tantalizing…

Buffy licked her lips without meaning to, then flushed when his keen eyes caught her movement.

“I… th-thought you said you didn’t like cheap American beer,” she blurted the first thing that popped into her mind.

Spike just grinned. “I didn’t fancy the one you bought me on our little date last week. I didn’t say _all_ Amer–”

“It _wasn’t_ a date, Spike,” she quickly corrected him. “I was just pumping you for information.”

Raising his scared brow, he swigged a small sip of his beer and ran his thumb down the center of his chest, the moisture from the bottle leaving a barely perceptible trail.

“Really? Pumpin’ me?”

“You’re such a pig, Spike,” she glared.

“Just repeatin’ you, cutie.” He leaned one elbow on the counter, so relaxed-looking that Buffy was instantly jealous. She still couldn’t get her body to stop sweating, still too attuned to this sickening haze of partying bodies.

Turning her back on Spike for a moment, she eyed her group of friends on the other side of the club, and then she furtively slid onto the stool beside Spike and heaved a sigh. He watched her with soft, studying eyes.

“Want anythin’ to drink, Slayer? Look right parched.”

“I _am_ parched, but… it’s a school night,” she grumbled. “I’ve got class in the morning. And besides, Buffy and booze are non-mixy things.”

Spike gazed at her for a couple more seconds, a smirk on the corner of his mouth, and then the hand not holding his own beer ducked into his duster pocket and pulled out a dollar bill, which he slid along the counter until the barista noticed him.

“Coke. On the rocks. And a napkin of spare rocks.”

“You’re getting a drink with _rocks_ in it?” Buffy spluttered at him.

Spike’s eyes rolled to the ceiling. “ _Ice_ , Slayer. ‘Rocks’ means a drink on ice.”

“Oh. Why are you getting extra ice?”

His tongue curled along the edge of his upper teeth.

“You’ll see, luv.”

Buffy frowned, swapping her own sweaty neck with the back of her hand. Spike continued staring at her, and he was so frustratingly calm – not to mention so cold that she was having difficulty not grabbing his wrist and holding it against her forehead – so she tried to agitate him.

“Were you in a fight recently? You’ve got a bruise.”

Spike’s eyes narrowed for a moment, but he shrugged it off, along with his duster, which he folded over one arm.

“Was wonderin’ if that’d faded yet. Whole lack of reflection has its price. Yeah, I was in a bit of a tussle. Willy’s Place isn’t the seediest demon dive around here, if you can believe it. Got mixed in with a certain crowd that, er, recalled seein’ me give you an’ your peanut gallery a hand.”

“So a bunch of other demons ganged up on you and beat you for helping me?”

“Don’t sound so surprised, luv,” Spike scoffed, snapping his fingers to hasten the barista’s attention to their order. “Been gettin’ the mickey taken outta me ever since I sussed out I could still brawl with my own kind. Got this nasty tendency to bite off more than I can chew.”

Buffy swept her eyes over him again, realizing she rarely ever saw him without his trademark leather coat on. He must have tailored his t-shirt sleeves, because there was no way he could look so muscular otherwise, his alabaster bicep bulging under the black cotton. The shirt was tight across his chest, highlighting the cleft between his pectorals.

“Like what you see, Slayer?”

Buffy looked up sharply and blinked, disoriented both by the curious tilt of his eyes and by that exasperating chilled aura he emitted. _He really thinks I was checking him out? Oh, please! Well… maybe a little… but I have a boyfriend, a very human boyfriend… who can’t dance_.

Looking away, Buffy sighed frustratedly, mopping the ongoing sweat out of her eyes.

Finally, the bartender slid a tall glass of iced Coca-Cola over in front of Spike, then deposited a handful of ice cubes on a napkin beside it.

“All yours, pet,” the vamp murmured, shifting the drink to her.

“Really? Oh, thank god.”

She stabbed a straw amidst the ice cubes, wrapped both hands around the base of the glass, and gulped, feeling Spike’s eyes widen as he watched her, his mouth opening a tad.

“What?”

“Uh… nothin’.”

She took another long sip, keeping her eyes on Spike, who tilted his head, smiling in what looks _almost_ like affection, but she wrote it off as amusement.

“Now you gonna tell me what your extra ice is for?” she demanded, eyeing the little stack of cubes on the napkin.

Grinning again, he cupped one ice cube in his palm and raised it to the back of her neck, underneath her ponytail. She shivered at the first contact, his cool hand cradling the base of her skull, pressing the rapidly melting cube against her vertebra, but with each passing second the relief seemed to multiply.

“Spike… whoa… oh my god, that feels amazing.”

“Knew you’d like it. Fancy another?”

“Please. I can’t believe I didn’t think of this earlier.”

He picked up another bit of ice and pressed his one to her forehead. It melted almost on impact, the water trailing down her face like tears, continuing down the column of her neck until it was indistinguishable from the sweat on her torso. But the vampire’s cooling fingertips provided the same relief even without the ice, his thumb and forefinger rubbing gentle circles between her eyebrows.

New music suddenly started up, the bands having switched in the interim. Buffy stood, looking around warily in case Riley tries to corral her into another dance. Spike remained leaning against the bar and set his beer beside her drink and the dwindling cubes atop the soggy napkin.

“Thanks for the Coke,” she mumbled. “I’d better go before Riley tries to–”

“Would you dance with _me_ , Slayer?”

Caught off guard, Buffy stared, trying to interpret his expression… an almost humble look, if such a thing was possible for a soulless vampire. She shrugged, crossed her arms, and then dropped them back to her sides, wavering between which position gives some slight semblance of being less blazing hot.

“Spike… I’m not really in the mood to dance. It’s just too warm in here. You’d think someone could open a door or something. And besides… I think I’m taking a hiatus from partner dancing. It just isn’t as fun.”

“Only when your bloke isn’t doin’ it right,” murmured Spike, draping his duster over the barstool she’d vacated. “Tell me somethin’, Summers. When you dance with Captain Cardboard–”

“Don’t call him that,” she snapped defensively, earning another eye-roll from the vampire.

“When you dance with _your boyfriend_ ,” he started again, “do you feel beautiful? Do you feel worshipped?”

Buffy blinked, staring him down for a few moments before she dropped her gaze to the inside of her almost-empty Coca-Cola glass.

“No. I… I feel like I’m babysitting the Hulk.”

She blusheed, ashamed by her own honesty. Spike chuckled and picked up the last bit of ice, his eyes turning sultry again as he ran the tip of frozen water across her brow.

“There’s your problem right there. He thinks the dance is about _him_. You see, Slayer… I was taught that a man’s role in a dance is to make the _woman_ look and feel as beautiful as he can. He’s just a prop, invisible, drawin’ all eyes only to her.”

“Somehow that doesn’t line up with the ‘William the Sad and Pathetic Poet’ story,” said Buffy, raising an eyebrow.

He pressed one hand dramatically to his chest. “Such barbs, cutie. Anyone listenin’ would think it’s your sacred duty to wound me or som’mit like that. An’ you’re missin’ my point. You like dancin’ alone, don’t you? Feelin’ in control?”

“Yes…” she replied, hesitating only because she couldn’t figure out what his catch was.

“So, dancin’ with a partner should enhance that, not bollocks it up.”

Extending one hand, he skimmed the very tips of his fingers across her arm, and Buffy leaned almost imperceptivity into his touch, still surprised that he was just as cool as the ice cubes.

“I could make you feel like that, Slayer. How you deserve to feel. Glorious and ravishin’… the woman every man in the room lusts for. Free to feel your own strength. Your power and beauty.”

“You didn’t just suddenly develop mind-reading powers, did you?” she asked suspiciously.

Spike shook his head with a grin. “Why? Did I hit the mark dead-on? Sussed out what you’re cravin’? Want to try it out? Let me show you how a proper man should worship you?”

He licked his lip, and a flush crept up Buffy’s cheeks. She was damp now, in more ways than one.

“I… I don’t think I want _you_ to make me feel that.”

His face stiffened as though she had slapped him.

“Why not?”

“Because you’re… _you_.”

Spike swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his strained marble neck, and that indiscernible look was back in his eyes, like adoration, but that couldn’t possibly be it.

“Pretend I’m not me,” he murmured, in a voice that nearly sounded like begging. “Please… pretend I’m anyone you’d like. Just dance with me.”

Surprised by his fervor, Buffy stared at him, her conscience arguing against her curiosity. _What would it feel like to have a dance partner who could hold his own, strengthen me instead of drain my energy? Would it be wrong to use Spike for that? Do I even care if I’m using him?_

Making up her mind, she took hold of his hand and slowly backed up, pulling him a few steps onto the dance floor. His mouth opened in astonishment, but he quickly recovered and moved in closer, his left hand clasping her right, his right hand skimming tenderly up her back to rest against her shoulder blade, only his fingertips actually touching her.

“Just so we’re clear, I’m only letting you do this because you’re the only body in here that isn’t drenched in sweat,” she said, feigning more grumpiness than she honestly felt, just because the sensation of his lean, cool hands was so nice, so different from the pawing ones of Riley.

 _/ This space is not my home_  
This head you dwell in is not my home  
Made a vow to cut it out  
Take things slow as we may bruise  
To ease our predictable goodbyes  
Your heart, your heart  
Understood mine /  


_Well, so far all ten toes are intact_ , Buffy considered. They hadn’t moved much, really just swayed in place, testing each other, unable to switch off their mutual predator-prey vibes.

“Tense, Slayer?”

“Well, I am dancing with a _vampire_ ,” she muttered. _He’s doing that mind-reading thing again!_

“Thought I suggested you pretend I’m not me.”

“Easier said than done.”

“Mmm… you lead first, luv, loosen up a bit. Then I’ll show you my moves.”

Her brows narrowed. “I thought most men throw little hissy fits when the girl takes the lead.”

Spike shook his head, leaning forward just enough for his cheekbone to brush against her hair. “Not when you’re callin’ the shots, Slayer. Any man ought to consider it an honor. You’re an amazin’ dancer. Knew that the first moment I laid eyes on you. C’mon, baby. You know I don’t bite…”

 _Stupid charming vampire_. Buffy reluctantly turned her back on her former enemy and backed her hips into his. Slowly at first, she swayed, and he mirrored her exactly, his body seemingly acting as an extension of hers, moving in tandem.

“Relax against me, luv…”

Her body obeyed before she even processed his words, melting against the coolness of his form. Each of her hands intertwined with his, one pair resting over her stomach, the other tucked against her shoulder.

“That’s it, Buffy… guide me… control me…”

 _/ Found in forbidden nights_  
Sharp as glass and twice as bright  
Ignore the promises we made  
Forgotten now we’ll never get  
Home, home, home, home… /  


“Close your eyes, Buffy.”

“Why?” she whispered, startled by the breathlessness of her own voice.

“Trust me, pet.”

Curious – and knowing that with the piece of government hardware in his brain, preventing any aggression, what’s the worst he could do? Lick her? _Mmm, yes, he could…_ – Buffy conceded, letting her eyes flutter closed, her head bending back onto Spike’s well-muscled shoulder, her hips still undulating to the song’s beat.

“You’re so beautiful… Ah-ah-ah, keep your peepers shut now, precious,” he smirked as her eyes momentarily flashed open with a disapproving glower. “Can a man not fawn a bit over his lovely partner?”

“You’re not a man,” she huffed, this time keeping her eyes shut.

“No… ‘M not. But this wouldn’t feel quite so good if I _was_ now, would it, pet?”

 _/ My mouth, your lips_  
Your hands, my hips  
Hard time right now  
Will set us free  
And relieve us  
Of our misery  
Home, home… /  


His lips explored, roving across the back of her ear and then down along her jaw, and his hand on her waist pulled just the slightest bit tighter, until the whole length of her back was flush with his, feeling his coolness between the two thin layers of fabric separating their skins.

“You… are so gorgeous, Slayer,” he murmured, his voice smoky and tantalizing. “Bloody goddess, you are. Stolen all my breath away.”

“Good thing vampires don’t need to breathe,” she smirked. _Shesh, he’s almost_ too _good at this._

“Accept the metaphor, silly bint,” grumbled Spike, nipping his blunt teeth on the lobe of her ear, the tip of his tongue as gloriously cool as the ice cubes. Then his voice turnsedhusky again, and his nibbles transitioned to kisses. “Dearest Slayer… have you any notion of what you do to me?”

“You… you are acting, right?”

He hesitated just long enough to make her suspicious. “Sure, luv. Just being the man you deserve. Makin’ it easier for you to pretend this isn’t me. Is it working?”

“Almost too well,” she admitted, molding herself against him, bringing relief to her muggy skin. “You’re… you’re really good at this.”

“Thank you, pet. Just reflectin’ you…”

 _/ Secrets lie in our wake_  
Your kiss takes better outside the light of day  
Gnaw your shoulder, scratch your back  
Break my knuckles, feel them crack  
I’ll reveal nothing  
We’ll both play it fake  
Pretend not to worry  
Our hearts, your heart’s at stake /  


The music was brisk-paced, but they swayed slowly, immune to the wildness of the couples around them. If this was a thrall, Buffy didn’t care. Spike iwa so deliciously, wonderfully cold. His icy lips touched down on her shoulder, and Buffy squeaked once, then relaxed, his mouth gently kneading a stiff spot in her muscle.

“Ohh… That feels incredible. You’re so cold. Please don’t stop…”

He obliged, tenderly sliding his left palm down along her ribcage to rest over her stomach, while the other lifted her arm to hook it around his own neck, then skimmed his velvet fingertips along the underside of her bicep. Welcomed shivers prickled across every inch of her exposed skin, and she flattened her back to his chest, needing more of that chilled body closer to her, that ice sculpture, frigid and hard… and _ohhhh_ … _very_ hard.

“I’ll never stop, Slayer. I’ve found the one thing better than killin’ you.”

Brows drawing together in confusion, she turned her head, crushing her hair against his shoulder so she could meet his glassy cobalt eyes with her jades.

“What? What’s better?”

Spike grinned, and Buffy’s eyes were suddenly drawn to the moisture on his smirking lips. _God, even his lips look so cold… so good…_

“Wouldn’t you like to know, baby?” he murmured, almost crooning, as his mouth brushed softly against the side of her nose. Instinctively, her hand around his head tightened in his hair, keeping his face where it was, wonderfully close, his refreshing breath coasting over her cheeks, her lips…

 _/ My mouth, your lips_  
Your hands, my hips  
Hard time right now  
Will set us free  
And relieve us  
Of our misery  
Home, home… /  


“Where’s… where’s Riley?” Buffy suddenly asked, realizing that no matter how much she was enjoying this, her boyfriend would throw an absolute fit if he saw them.

“Gone out for a piss, I think,” Spike whispered against her ear. “Not surprising, the number of brews he knocked back. Why?”

“I… I kinda want you to keep kissing me.”

Spike chuckled, a low purr in the back of his throat. “Careful, little Slayer. I’m very easily seduced.”

 _I’m not seducing you_ , cried one part of her mind, but the other half immediately shushed her protests, content to just melt against him like the condensation on his glass.

“Spike…”

“It’s true… You’ve enslaved me, luv, enthralled me with your charms… My beautiful Slayer… oh, Slayer…”

His lips melded against hers, and Buffy moaned just a little, only loud enough for him to hear. Her hand in his hair clenched, disheveling the gelled platinum into its natural curls. She arched against him, seeking relief for the sudden explosion of heat inside her. When she gasped for breath, his tongue traced the inside of her cheek, delving into her, exploring ravenously.

 _/ Hard to believe_  
You could cause me harm  
This could cause me harm  
Hard to believe  
You could cause me harm  
This could cause me harm  
Home, home… /  


She should be struggling, wrestling free of this demon-man’s arms, but she only leaned closer to his marble body, whimpering when his lips left her mouth and caressed her neck again.

“I… _ohh_ … I sh-shouldn’t be enjoying this. You’re… _mmm_ … you’re a cold-blooded killer… _ohh_ …”

“Yin and yang, baby. I’m just the ice to your fire… Slayer, I want you… want to worship you…”

“Spike… Spike, yes…”

“Gonna give me a taste of your garden, Slayer? Imagine all the places I could put these lips…”

His mouth laved her throat, and his fingers trailed down past the waistband of her jeans, skimming atop the denim, but giving her the impression that his cool fingertips were directly on her skin. His arms were encircling her far tighter than Riley’s had been, and yet she felt _free_ , like she was flying, caught up in his flattering words and ice-cold kisses and the picture he’d now painted inside her head.

Spike… on his knees… trailing an ice cube along her sweat-speckled inner thigh… her nails digging into his pale shoulders… then his icy lips exploring the hottest, most hidden place of her…

 _/ My mouth, your lips_  
Your hands, my hips  
Hard time right now  
Will set us free  
And relieve us  
Of our misery /  


She gasped suddenly, bowing back against him as the sensations he’d kindled inside her finally roared into a flame, building and spiraling.

“Spike… _ohh_ … _Oh!_ ”

He grunted softly in her ear, holding her up as the muscles in her legs shake and shudder.

 _/ My mouth, your lips_  
Your hands, my hips  
Hard time right now  
Will set us free  
And relieve us  
Of our misery /  


The music ended, and applause filled the Bronze’s dance floor. Buffy remains where she was, her hips still gently swaying, cradled by Spike’s, her body slowly climbing down from her unbelievable high.

“That… wow… ohh…” _He didn’t even touch me… not THERE at least… oh my god…_

“Happy to serve you, luv.” His lips swept tenderly across her temple. “So lovely…”

“Spike, th-the song is over. You don’t need to… keep up the… you know.”

“Don’t I? You think just ‘cause there’s no tune you’re somehow less of a goddess than a moment before?”

“Spike, enough, okay? Any more and I’ll start thinking you actually mean it.”

He stiffened almost imperceptibly for just a moment, and his hands on her waist and shoulder trembled slightly.

“Tell me somethin’, Buffy. If I was anyone else, any other man in this room, would you have been so quick to doubt every bleedin’ thing I’ve been sayin’ to you?”

Buffy bit her lip, her attention fixed since he'd said her actual name. Her legs finally stable again, she turned in his arms, facing him.

“If… if you were anyone else it wouldn’t have felt so good,” she finally stammered, echoing his words from the start of their dance. “Vampire. Hence the nice coldness.”

“Oh, I see. It’s all ‘cuz I’m not a man. I’m a cold beast on your leash.”

“Spike…”

“You’re tellin’ me a monster’s words mean jack squat, that I could wax poetic on your beauty an’ your strength an’ these bloody feelings I can’t drink away.”

“Spike?” she repeated, his words striking her oddly.

“Because I meant it. Meant every soddin’ word. You deserve to be loved and worshiped.”

“You–”

“Your army brat’s back,” he grumbled, eyes on the side doorway. “I’d better sod off before he decides to point fingers.”

And he broke away, stomping back to the bar counter with his head bowed and jaw clenched. After one open-mouthed second, Buffy followed, stopping just short of his reach.

“Spike.”

He paused, halfway in the process of donning his duster.

“What, Slayer?”

“Next time… teach me your moves.”

She didn’t know what made her say it, or why her brain didn’t filter the words before they slipped out of her mouth, but the grin on Spike’s face made it well worth it.

_The End... For Now.  
_


End file.
